


Gestalt Touch

by devera



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-02
Updated: 2011-12-02
Packaged: 2018-11-12 04:44:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11154504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devera/pseuds/devera
Summary: Subject 16 wants to feel, while Desmond feels a little too much.





	Gestalt Touch

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a AC kinkmeme prompt: _animus hologram sexing._ Set inside the Black Room. Always did really like crazy Clay.

_I need.... I need to feel..._  
  
Sixteen is standing close, really close, crowding him against the side of the gate, not quite touching except that he's looking at Desmond all over, like he's trying to work out where to start, how to start, like he's afraid that once he does it'll all be some kind of illusion and he'll wake up and realise he's alone after all. That intensity, the conflicting signals – _want, want, can't have, don't want, want, need_ – scares the shit out of Desmond, to be honest, and for a full ten seconds or so he can't move, has no idea what to do. There's no doubt that Sixteen could overpower him in this space that he's constructed if he wanted to, could break him into tiny data pieces and Desmond would cease to exist except as a drooling dependent the Assassins would have to keep on life support. But Sixteen's not saying _make me feel or I'll let the Animus in_. He's not threatening Desmond in any way and maybe he's not human enough anymore to even realise he can. It's more like.... Desmond is gravity, and Sixteen is falling and can't stop himself.  
  
"It's just solid state," Sixteen is mumbling under his breath, and if he'd been there, if he'd been physical, he would have been close enough that his breath would have been gusting sharply across Desmond's cheek. "Binary information. Synapses are just neurotransmitters. Bioelectrical signals crossing a chemical divide. Molecular black and white is it on is it off, you're on I know you're on I'm off, I don't want to be off, I just... I need... I don't. I remember I don't. I don't remember anymore..."  
  
It's like watching something dying, the way Sixteen starts to trail off. It makes Desmond panic, like Sixteen might disappear and never come back, leaving him here alone instead and before Desmond can second guess himself, before he can even start to think about the conceptual errors and glitches involved in how two people can possibly feel anything when all they are is data, he pushes himself off the wall and straight into Sixteen. Sixteen reels back with a gasp, but his arms curl around Desmond's shoulders and his body turns so Desmond can fit himself in against it and Desmond turns his head up a little, just enough to find Sixteen's mouth with his, enough to push himself up against him and fist his hands in Sixteen's shirt and hold him and kiss him, because he doesn't know what else to do, or how to feel, but there's got to be some way to keep him here, to hold him back.  
  
"Whu-" Sixteen gasps, breaking off the kiss and it's like he doesn't understand what Desmond is doing.  
  
"Can you feel that?" Desmond asks shakily. "Did you feel that?"  
  
"I..." Sixteen says, staring at him. "I think- You kissed me."  
  
Desmond laughs a little, maybe slightly hysterically but that's fine.  
  
"I did," he agrees. "I really did. And I'm going to again. Want to kiss me back?"  
  
"Yes," Sixteen says, blinking, and Desmond leans up again and this time when he presses his lips to Sixteen's, Sixteen's mouth is less slack with surprise and more mobile with tentative interest, like he's relearning what it's all about. Desmond can't help but laugh out another breath against his skin, and when Sixteen opens his mouth – maybe to say something – Desmond just pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and flicks his tongue playfully along the compressed flesh before letting him go again.  
  
"Can you get hard?" he asks, brushing kisses against his mouth in between words. "Do you remember how that feels?" He doesn't wait for an answer, just worms his hand between them and finds Sixteen's cock by feel, thereby neatly answering both questions. Whatever configuration of data that passes for Sixteen's consciousness must retain some memory of pleasure because he is hard, and when Desmond squeezes him, gently and meaningfully, Sixteen sucks in a breath, tips his head back and shudders.

"Fuck," he groans and Desmond grins, because, okay, this is working.  
  
"Yeah, let's," he says. "Right now."  
  
"Whu?" Sixteen says again, looking a little dazed.  
  
"You know how long it's been since I've had sex?" Desmond demands breathlessly, and seriously, this might be the best idea he's had in years. He goes for the buttons on Sixteen's jeans, and if he thought he could get Sixteen to focus properly he could probably just get him to, Christ, make their clothes spontaneously disappear or something, and wow, suddenly the possibilities, the dirty, dirty possibilities of existing in a space made entirely from information makes Desmond's head reel. "Actually," he says, "I don't want to think about how long it's been since I've had sex. Let's just stay with, I want it now."  
  
"Yeah," Sixteen agrees. "Yeah, okay. So do. I mean, Desmond, you're. I feel... That feels good."  
  
And Jesus. Shit. Desmond drops his head against Sixteen's chest, and he can't hear words like that and not think about who Sixteen is, who he used to be, how much Desmond would fucking _save_ him if he could and how terrified he is that Sixteen really _is_ crazy enough to try and force himself along for the ride back to Desmond's body on the way out of the Black Room.  
  
"Name," he grates, finally getting Sixteen's jeans undone and open, and he already knows what he's going to do and he's not going to stop long enough for either of them to think about it.  
  
"What?" Sixteen gasps for a third time, when Desmond pushes his jeans down and pushes his hand inside his boxers and wraps his hand around Sixteen's dick.  
  
"You had a name. What was it? What _is_ it?"  
  
"Clayton," Sixteen pants. "Clay."  
  
Desmond grins and drops to his knees in front of him.  
  
"Clay," he repeats. "Pay attention, okay? Because this is how it feels to have your dick sucked."  
  
He doesn't wait for a response, just holds Clay's cock at the base, and leans forward far enough to suck it into his mouth.  
  
"Fuck!" Clay grates, and immediately there are hands on Desmond's head and Clay is mindlessly thrusting himself further into the cavern of Desmond's mouth and screw it, Desmond doesn't care. It's not like his gag reflex is going to be an issue here, and he wants as much sensation as he can manage, even if it is artificial; wants to give Clay as much sensation as he can. Let him fuck his face. Desmond wants it. He wants to have the dirtiest sex he can think of for as long as he can, until Clay's overloaded with it, until they both are, until the Animus is going berserk at all the data they're wrecking just by _doing_ it. It's probably crazy but he doesn't care.  
  
"Fu- Fuck! Desmond! Oh, geez. Oh fuck..."  
  
Clay sounds lost in a totally different way. Desmond slides off long enough to look up at him, stops long enough for Clay to draw in a shuddering breath and look down at him, his eyes huge, his face flushed, his mouth hanging slack and open.  
  
"Fuck me," he tells him fast and hot and maybe it's just memory, just fake sensation, but he's hard and aching and he just wants to jerk himself off while Clay comes all over his face, just wants him to lose all control and push his face into the ground and pound him until he's screaming for it to stop. "Come on, Clay, just go for it. It's not like we got anywhere else to be. You remember how, right? You ever shoved it so far down someone's throat you can feel them swallowing?"  
  
"You –" Clay says, staring like he just realised Desmond was _God_. "Jesus fucking Christ, _Desmond_."  
  
When Clay moves, Desmond's more than ready, just opens his mouth and lets him shove it in and he remembers how hot and soft the skin of a hard cock is, what precome tastes like and how it slicks the back of his tongue and the roof of his mouth. He groans, loud, because he remembers how that feels, and the suggestion of vibration seems to be enough to trigger Clay's own memory because it forces an inarticulate sound out of him and then suddenly he's pushing so hard Desmond is forced to swallow around him.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Clay chants, and Desmond scrabbles for the buttons on his own jeans, loosens them enough to shove his hand into his pants and drag out his cock and starts jerking himself off, hard, fast. It probably hurts, would if there'd been actually flesh involved, but it's just the memory of flesh and he can do anything he wants, any fucking thing at all. He twitches, fights to drag his head out of Clay's grip, away from the thrust of his hips, and Clay looks down with a snarl on his face, his eyes positively _alight_ but Desmond keeps his other fist around him and his face close to the head of Clay's cock and gasps, "Come on me. Clay! Fuck! Come on. I wanna feel-"  
  
He gasps on the last word, Clay wrenching his head back as his breath chokes out of him and he thrusts hard, uncontrollably into Desmond's fist and then he's coming and it's everything that Desmond wants. He closes his eyes and opens his mouth and jerks himself harder and he can feel it hot, striping his face in long, thick splashes and Clay is making a sound like he's _dying_ and Desmond is so close, so-  
  
"Jesus fuck!" Clay grunts and suddenly Desmond is being shoved down, like Clay's just collapsed on top of him except his hands are every fucking where and he's kissing Desmond, licking his own come up from Desmond's face and saying, "Desmond. _Desmond_ ," over and over again like he doesn't remember any other word. His hand convulses around Desmond's on Desmond's cock and his tongue is in Desmond's mouth, a hard thrust of want as he jerks him blindly, too hard, too fast, and, yeah, Desmond wants that too, wants Clay to fuck him hard, wants to fuck Clay, but later, later. This right now, oh Christ, _this_ , and then he's right there, like a circuit overload, like a power surge, synapses firing all at once in his brain, muscles convulsing, over and over, until the Black Room goes white.  
  
Holy fucking _wow_. So much for not being able to feel.  
  
"Desmond."  
  
Mmm, and okay, that feels good too, Clay kissing him like that, everywhere, again and again.  
  
"Yep," he says eventually, and his tongue feels a thick and clumsy in his mouth, not that he really currently has either a tongue or a mouth, but that way just lies madness. "Still here."  
  
"Desmond, that was... That was..."  
  
"Yeah," Desmond agrees, because the stunned, subdued, hell, sane, tone to Clay's voice is all the comment needed. "It really was." He cracks an eye open, and Clay's looking at him like he's some kind of revelation, which, hey, Desmond doesn't hate. So he says, just to see the look on Clay's face, "Want to do it again?"  
  
Clay looks then like all his Christmases have come at once.  
  
"Yes?" he says, a little like he's not sure if he should or not.  
  
Desmond just grins. "So, don't suppose there's a bed on this island somewhere?"  
  
Clay blinks at him, and then grins back.  
  
"No, but there's a block that's just about the right size."  
  
That's good enough for Desmond.  
  
"Then what are we waiting for?"  
  
"For the feeling to come back to my legs?" Clay says, and suddenly remembering how all this began in the first place, Desmond starts to laugh. He starts to laugh and he finds he can't stop, doesn't want to stop. He's rolling into Clay as he just keeps going and Clay's laughing too and the two of them are rolling against each other, just about killing themselves laughing, and Desmond, just for that moment, thinks it's okay, it's all right, because there's a lot wrong in his life, but he can still feel this, _they_ can still feel this. And that's probably as right as anything gets.


End file.
